The Reason Why We Fight
by Coffeecup35
Summary: Athos finds himself happy and content as he and his friends enjoy a day of calm, and recover from the aftermath of battle. Athos POV.
1. Chapter 1

Athos finds himself happy and content as he and his friends enjoy a day of calm and recover from the aftermath of battle.

Athos POV

I seem to have gone from never having written before to not being able to stop! This is just a little interlude for the boys where they enjoy some down time together and recover in the wake of D'Artagnan's first real battle experience.

Nothing too graphic, but some of the battle stuff may be a trigger.

Don't own the boys...sigh!

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Porthos deep booming laugh and D'Artagnan's - one could only describe it as a giggle (though Athos knew the boy would vociferously object to such a term) echoed across the meadow. With the soft, crisp air of a beautiful, mild April day in his nostrils, a sense of contentment, which had been so rare and elusive in his life, filled Athos. He felt peace at this moment.

Porthos had just finished recounting to D'Artagnan (much to Aramis chagrin) an hilarious tale of one of his friend's most embarrassing encounters - as he attempted to escape from the amorous advances of a very rich, very old, very portly, surprisingly strong, and extremely persistent Dowager. Said escape involved an unpleasant encounter with the contents of a chamber pot, followed by some extremely aggressive swans, and a final undignified tumble down a hill to land in a pile of manure. To say nothing of the ruin of a very fine hat! D'Artagnan had tears streaming down his cheeks, almost unseating himself from his horse as the story reached its crescendo. It was so good to hear him laugh again.

The four friends remained at a leisurely pace, their horses enjoying the meander as much as the riders. Morning sunlight dancing on the wild flowers by the path. It was so good to bask in the presence of his friends, to enjoy the peace and warmth of the day. It would do them all good, especially the boy. So different from the noise, the screams, the fear and agony of just a few weeks ago.

As they rounded a small copse a pond glittered before them. Without a word spoken they all broke into a canter. The horses had barely stopped before his three friends were off their mounts, stripped to their braies and diving into the chilly water. Athos lowered himself down carefully, the movement pulling at the jagged, still fresh scar in his side. He noticed D'Artagnan watching him with a worried expression. Athos gave him a small reassuring smile, and was pleased to see Porthos - clearly having witnessed the interaction, dunking the gascon below the water. The boy came up spluttering and scowling at the guffawing Porthos then, with a quick mischievous glance at Aramis, D'Artagnan elicited the other man's help and they both dived on the larger man bringing him under the water.

Athos rejoiced at the sight of his brothers' healthy, happy and alive. Rejoiced too that he was around to see it, and wasn't that a positive change for him after so many years of, if not courting death, at least not resisting it should it call.

This day was so different to the one 3 weeks ago which was bloody, brutal, and fierce. It had been D'Artagnan's first experience of true battle. Oh he had fought, dealt with bandits, ambushes, attacks on the King. But this was an actual battlefield. Canon fire, chaos and carnage - as the initial waves of attack swamped their forces, before reinforcements arrived to turn the tide in their favour. Porthos and Aramis had been swept away from them - fighting to the right flank. Athos was determined to keep D'Artagnan in sight as they defended on the left of the field, fighting side by side. So they were together when the ground shook with the explosion of the canon, and when the ridge they were standing on gave way, and when they fell. The little Athos knew of what happened after was pieced together from hazy moments of consciousness, and what he had been able to glean from D'Artagnan in the days after.

Athos remembered the fall. The pain as he bounced off boulders, tree stumps and debris. He' s not sure what sliced into his side, a sharp rock, a section of branch, a discarded sword? The next thing he remembered was D'Artagnan's blurry and worried face leaning over him, pleadingly whispering his name.

"Oh thank God" he heard the boy breathe as he opened his eyes.

The Gascon had a nasty gash running the length of his cheek. Athos was vaguely aware that they seemed to be surrounded by bushes and trees. D'Artagnan had apparently dragged him into the nearby woods after they fell.

" There are at least a dozen enemy soldiers nearby" he hissed. " We need to go now! Can you move?"

Athos will forever say that gave a manly sound of agreement, but it might have actually been a whimper, as D'Artagnan pulled him to his feet. He was aware of a bandage at his waist, clearly D'Artagnan had been busy while he was out, Much of what happened next is vague at best, as his consciousness drifted. He was aware of the boy dragging him as he tried unsuccessfully to get his legs to support his own weight. Next thing he remembered he was being cast to the ground and the sounds of swords as D'Artagnan engaged what might have been around 5 or 6 enemy soldiers. The boy was fierce, bellowing a battle cry that Porthos would have been proud of. He was a blur of limbs, cutting down the attackers with viciousness and ferocity. Hacking away at the final soldier until Athos had had to yell for him to stop. D'Artagnan turned to Athos, his enemies blood dripping from his face, arms and sword. Adrenalin still pumping through his body, breathing fast, ready to keep fighting. A look of fury, that it broke Athos heart to see, on the face of the once innocent young man. It was a warrior's face. Then suddenly it was gone. His knees gave out and he landed on all fours, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the muddy forest floor. Horror replacing his earlier rage as he looked at the bodies around him and realised that he had ended their lives. He had had no choice, he had defended himself and Athos. But as he looked he noticed that at least 3 of them seemed to be younger than him. Boyish, pimpled faces twisted in death. All of a sudden their Gascon boy had become as battle weary as the rest of the inseparables. And Athos wanted to weep at the sight.

He must have passed out again, because when next he became aware of his surroundings he realised that D'Artagnan had managed to somehow get him back up the hill to the field of battle. The skirmish was over. The enemy had retreated and those left lay dead or dying on the grass. D'Artagnan half dragged, half carried Athos to the command tent, where surgeons awaited. There is nothing quite like the horrific sounds of the wounded post battle - the screams of the maimed and dying. The pungent odours of blood and death. Athos wished he could spare the boy such memories. But he was a soldier, and this was the brutal reality of the life he had chosen.

Athos remembered D'Artagnan' s mumbled reassurances as he passed him into the care of one of the musketeers whom he knew to be skilled at needle work. Not as good as Aramis, but capable nonetheless . It was then they realised there was no sign of Aramis or Porthos.

Note: I should have the second and final chapter up in the next few days.

Reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to all who reviewed and favourited the last chapter. I can't tell how much I appreciated it.

So here is the final chapter of this little interlude.

Still don't own them mores the pity!

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Chapter 2

The next three days consisted of only fevered dreams for Athos. He remembered begging D'Artagnan to search for Aramis and Porthos before he would allow himself to be stitched. The boy hadn't wanted to leave his side while he was tended to, but Athos had insisted. And with D'Artagnan's own desire to find his friends at war with his wish to remain, eventually he acceded to his mentor's command.

Athos had passed out during the stitching - his worry over his missing comrades following him into unconsciousness, as his body succumbed to fever and infection. The few memories he has of those days were of the terrible images conjured up by his fevered mind, images of his brothers slaughtered. When his awareness returned his first sight was the exhausted and haunted face of D'Artagnan. The boy looked so bleak that Athos had been terrified that their two friends had perished. Thankfully the boy quickly informed him they were recovering in another room. Athos had expected some of the usual humour and banter that they often engaged in when one of their comrades had been hurt, but was now on the road to recovery. A way of covering up their fear, and comforting the wounded. It was a rehearsed and practiced response, a way to banish worry and trauma. But instead the boy's brown eyes had welled up, and he leaned his head on Athos arm and wept. In a move that had surprised himself, and one which if called to account for he would blame on his own pain and exhaustion, Athos reached over and buried his other hand in the boy's hair.

It took a few days for the Gascon to reveal all that had happened after he had left Athos to the surgeon. It was clear the boy was carrying a great weight over this time, and Athos had been determined to get him to speak of it. Any gaps in the story were filled in by Porthos.

D'Artagnan had scoured through the dead on the battlefield. Terrified of seeing the broken bodies of Aramis and Porthos. Forced to look on the horror of violent death. The ground he walked over a sickening mix of blood, mud and viscera. After what seemed like hours he still had not found them. He had been sure they must be dead. Why else would they not have come searching for him and Athos. If they were wounded, why had the stretcher bearers not yet discovered them? He found them in some caves on the other side of the hill. The bodies of eight enemy soldiers leading him there. Porthos was propped up in a dark corner of the cave, legs stretched out in front of him, red stained bandage covering his right thigh. His arms wrapped around Aramis motionless upper body, which was draped across him. D'Artagnan had been terrified to move, not wanting to know that his brothers were gone. He must have made some sort of broken noise, because Porthos opened his eyes and like lightening had his musket pointed at the boy. Both gave huge sighs of relief, and Porthos dropped the weapon spluttering a laugh, before his face sagged and he simply asked "Athos?"

D'Artagnan had quickly explained he was safe, then asked his own "Aramis?"

Aramis had taken a bad knock to the head, but had managed to stay conscious long enough to drag Porthos into the cave and stop him from bleeding to death, before passing out. Porthos reassured the Gascon that he had managed to rouse Aramis a few times, but he couldn't carry him on his wounded leg, so he was resting until they were found. Or until the pain subsided enough for him to chance his bad leg carrying them both anyway.

Athos had enjoyed his own joyful reunion with Porthos and Aramis shortly after he awoke. They had stayed with him as much as possible during his fever, but once it had broken Treville had insisted they rest and allow their own injuries time to heal, which was the only reason they had not been with the boy to witness Athos initial return to consciousness. Athos had no real time alone with D'Artagnan again over the next few days. Aramis and Porthos hovering round him and ensuring he recovered. Also the boy seemed to withdraw from them all. He was quiet and the dark smudges under his eyes grew. The rye humour, life and exuberance which were so much a part of his character, were no longer in evidence. Eventually, with the assistance, not to mention sneakiness of Aramis and Porthos, he contrived to get some time alone with his protege.

Athos was not a talker! Sharing feelings? - He would rather ride naked through a field of thorn bushes! He had considered getting Aramis to do it - using all the force of his considerable charm to draw the boy out. Or Porthos. He didn't have the flowery language of his friend, but somehow the man's distinctive combination of warmth and caring, alongside a back slapping, bear hugging energy, encouraged others to open up to him. But somehow he knew it was him the boy needed to speak to.

Athos remembers little of his faltering attempts to get the Gascon to talk, he only knows that whatever he said momentarily caused D'Artagnan to think Athos was dying. And lo and behold if that wasn't actually the right approach! The boy falteringly told him how he had felt searching the dead for Aramis and Porthos. His terror that Athos would also succumb to his injuries and he would be left alone. The way, if he smells anything that reminds him of the aftermath of the battle he will throw up. How he hasn't slept in days, because when he closes his eyes all he can see are the staring eyes of the last boy he killed in the woods. How he doesn't think he will ever sleep again and is terrified that he doesn't have the stomach to be a soldier and maybe he should just be a farmer after all. It all comes out in a rush, and then ...he sinks to his knees and weeps. For the second time in a week Athos finds himself pushing his hands through D'Artagnan's dark hair, as he kneels beside him, and wraps his arms around the sobbing boy. And surprisingly Athos doesn't wish it was Aramis or Porthos providing the comfort, instead he counts it a privilege that this remarkable, strong and caring young man can find comfort in a seemingly cold and distant former Compte. Gradually D'Artagnan had stopped crying and Athos had shared his own first battle experience. The vivid memories of that day still with him, joined by the recollections of all the battles since. He explains that the only thing that allows him to keep going is to remember why he fights. Originally he had become a soldier to forget, possibly even to die. But then he had met Aramis and Porthos, and Treville, and later D'Artagnan, and he knows now that he fights for them. To defend his brothers. Just as D'Artagnan had fought so hard to defend him. They sat together side by side till the sun disappeared behind the horizon, passing a bottle of wine back and forth. Till Athos felt the boy's head land on his shoulder as he finally slept. Athos sat on, sipping his wine, not wishing to disturb him.

Now Athos lay on the grass, the April sunlight warming his face, listening to the splashes and laughter from his friends in the water. Once again the surprising feeling of peace and contentment surrounded him. He glanced up and saw D'Artagnan's huge bright smile, as he put his bare foot in Porthos cupped hands, and the bigger man thrust his arms upwards, propelling the boy into the air. D'Artagnan flipped backwards into the water, breaking the surface, again laughing. This, thought Athos, this, is why we fight. And with that he let the joyous sound of his brothers lull him to sleep.

The End

Thank you for reading. Reviews are so appreciated.


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